


Constellations

by coffeejunkii



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, travel vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> I looked up at the night sky there.  Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wondered if our stars were the same.</i> – Will Graham, “Dolce” final script.</p><p>Will and Hannibal piece their lives back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constellations

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Nursedarry for betaing and to Rurounihime for brainstorming.

1.

Will wakes to a ceiling made of polished wood. Fine cotton spreads beneath his hands, and sunlight streams in through small high windows. Below him, a faint rocking suggests he is on a boat. It's warm, but not unpleasant, despite the humidity in the air. When he turns his head, he sees Hannibal next to him, asleep. They're close enough that Hannibal's nose almost touches his shoulder.

It's the most alert Will has felt in days, or perhaps weeks. He doesn't know. It doesn't bother him not to know. He returns his gaze to the wood and exhales.

2.

The second time Will wakes, Hannibal's eyes are open when Will turns his head.

“Good morning,” Hannibal greets.

“Is it morning?” Will asks.

“Most certainly. Although not for long. It is already past eleven. How do you feel?”

Will frowns. He feels pain—in his cheek and his shoulder—but it is the good kind, of muscles and skin knitting back together. Healing. “Better.”

Hannibal smiles. “Good.”

“Where—where are we?”

“About twenty miles west of Compass Cay. In the Bahamas.”

Will's brain processes the information, but it leaves no impact. It only matters that they are far away; otherwise, he cares little about what is beyond the confines of this cabin. He wonders if Hannibal anticipated that Will would find comfort in being on a boat. “I assume this is your boat.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal studies Will, and Will finds that he doesn't mind. He looks back, tracking the familiar lines on Hannibal's face and the new bruises on his torso. The wound near his hip still bears stitches. 

“Will,” Hannibal begins.

Will's eyes flick back up to his face.

“We will be comfortable. And we will be safe.” It's both promise and belief. Fingers brush over Will's wrist.

Will gives Hannibal a jerky nod. He turns his hand, palm up. Hannibal's hand slides into his, fingers lacing together.

They have touched this deliberately a few times before, but it still feels like a step into a new direction. Will waits for panic to set in, but it doesn't come.

3.

They go further south, from Great Exuma to Turks and Caicos to Anguilla.

Will starts reading about the places they visit. Histories of conquest and independence, theories of exploitation and self-determination. Books that detail vegetation and animal life. He hovers over large maps, fingers tracing ocean currents.

Hannibal leaves him be. Sometimes he will come to sit next to Will with a book of his own. Other days, they only see each other during meals or at bedtime. Will lends a hand with the boat, but Hannibal is more than capable managing on his own. The sophisticated navigation system helps. 

One evening they're having dinner on the deck, fresh fish and fruit from Marigot.

“Are we headed anywhere particular?” Will asks. 

“Is that what you would like?” Hannibal takes another bite of red snapper, eyes fixed Will.

“No.” A destination seems dangerous.

“I agree. We should keep our interests mobile for a while.”

Will looks at the distant shore, sky stretching above in a gradient of pink to blue. Night will fall soon, and the only things visible will be the lights in faraway houses. It's a view he's always liked.

 

4.

It surprises Will that he doesn't need to get used to sleeping next to Hannibal.

Maybe he got used to having someone next to him at night, but Hannibal isn't Molly. Sometimes, when Will is between sleeping and waking, he believes Molly is next to him and the dogs across the room.

Waking fully to find himself on the boat isn't upsetting. There is no hollow space in his chest the way there used to be when he woke up next to Molly after having believed himself to be somewhere else.

 

5.

When Will finds a photo of Abigail tucked between _The Year of the Soul_ and _Folie et Déraison_ , he is not prepared for the sorrow that washes over him.

The photo was taken in Hannibal's kitchen in Baltimore. Abigail is laughing, gesturing at a bowl next to her. Ingredients are spread on the counter. Will wonders if Hannibal taught her how to cook. It's the promise of a future that never came to pass.

He notices Hannibal out of the corner of his eyes, stopping a few feet away. “Do you ever regret what you did?” Will asks. 

He expects Hannibal to say no without any hesitation. But Hannibal averts his eyes and remains silent for a long time before he turns and leaves.

Will's eyes burn. He presses a hand against them, tries to push down the pain searing through him. He can't stop the sob clawing out of his throat. It's been years, but losing Abigail is a constant, a fixed point of hurt. 

He spends the rest of the day and evening on the aft deck, looking out onto the waves. Hannibal comes by to drape a blanket around his shoulders after the sun has set. He retreats as quickly as he appeared.

Will looks after him, then lifts his eyes to the sky. He blinks, overwhelmed by the expanse of stars. Thousands of them, dots of light stretching beyond his field of vision. They cluster together so tightly that Will cannot separate them into constellations. He has looked at star maps of the Southern hemisphere, familiarizing himself with its patterns. The Southern Cross. Carina. Pyxis. But out here, he only sees variables of light. His fingers curl tightly around the railing, the vastness above him suddenly unbearable. Yet he can't stop looking.

The moon is high in the sky by the time Will goes back inside. Their cabin is dark. Will crawls into bed, under blankets warmed by Hannibal's body, and wraps himself around him. Hannibal draws Will's arm closer, tucks it tight against his chest.

Hannibal is the person who took Abigail away from Will, but he is also the only one who shares Will's grief. That, more than anything else, is what matters to Will that night.

 

6.

Eventually, Will asks Hannibal if he will kill again.

Hannibal doesn't hesitate. “Yes.” He pauses, chopping another carrot. “But not for a while yet. It would be unwise to draw attention to ourselves.”

Will nods.

“This type of decision requires a firmer assent, Will.”

“Right. Yes.”

Hannibal sets down his knife. “Will you join me?”

Will lays his hands flat on the counter that separates them. “If there's a good reason.”

“There is always a reason. Anything else would be a waste.” Hannibal resumes chopping.

Will nods again. “Right.”

“This still bothers you.” Hannibal doesn't look up at Will as he slides the carrots into a bowl.

Will rounds the counter to stand next to Hannibal. “I've made my decision. I chose this.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “You.”

Hannibal lays down the knife and wipes his hands on a tea towel. He steps into Will's space and uses the weight of his body to push him back against the counter.

They've kissed before, but it was hesitant then. An exploration. This feels purposeful.

When Hannibal's hand slides down Will's side, thumb pressing down into the groove of his hip with only thin cotton separating skin from skin, heat suffuses Will. He had wondered if it would. If Hannibal would draw this out of him. Had wondered also what would happen if they couldn't connect in this way, or only after a kill. But this is unmistakable, and Will chases after it to its conclusion.

Afterward, Will's hands won't stop shaking. He digs them into Hannibal's shirt. His face is pressed into the crook of Hannibal's neck, breath coming in uneven gasps. Hannibal seems equally unsteady; his hands move here and there, over Will's shoulders, hips, his back.

Hannibal pulls away first, murmuring, “Please clean up before dinner.”

Will nearly stumbles over his feet on the way to the shower. The water rushes over him with relentless force, and he tilts his head up to feel it against his face. His stomach muscles contract with want. He could chalk it up to not having been with anyone for months, but that's not it. Hannibal has always been able to see things in Will that he hadn't been able to discern himself. Now that they've crossed this threshold, Will wants to see what Hannibal can tease out of him, and how he can break Hannibal down to his foundations. Laid bare in more ways than one.

When Will returns to the living area, Hannibal has just finished plating up their food. Will watches as Hannibal sets the plates down on the table and takes his seat. He walks over to Hannibal, curls a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him, open-mouthed and as dirty as he can make it. When Hannibal doesn't object, Will settles himself astride Hannibal's lap, grinding down. He can feel as Hannibal's cock fills and realizes: Hannibal hasn't been this close to another person in three years. And while Will has never thought of himself as much of a catch, he knows he isn't just anyone to Hannibal. This matters, to both of them.

It surprises him when Hannibal gentles the kiss and pulls away. “There is great pleasure in anticipation.” Hannibal's voice is steady, but his hand flutters against Will's chest. “Having you for the first time is one of the greatest pleasures I can imagine. I would like to savor the thought of it for a while longer.”

Will wonders if Hannibal worries that he could change his mind. Does he not believe that he has Will, irrevocably? 

Hannibal smiles, his eyes turned downward to the small space between their bodies. “Don't worry. I doubt I can resist you much longer.”

“Good.” Will is done with waiting. He rises. “Shall we eat?”

7.

A few nights later, Will stands outside looking up at the stars again. He hears Hannibal coming up behind him, but doesn't turn around. The heat from Hannibal's body feels good against the chill of the evening. 

Hannibal noses along Will's neck. “I would like to take you to bed.”

Will shivers at the way Hannibal's lips graze his skin. “Yes.” He looks back over his shoulder. “Please.”

The cabin is illuminated by a few candles; the covers already turned down. 

“May I undress you?” Hannibal asks, the slightest hesitation in his voice.

Will turns to face him. “Sure.” He's never bothered making this part into anything that requires special consideration, but he can see Hannibal having a distinct vision for how this unfolds between them.

Hannibal looks pleased and starts with the buttons on Will's shirt. He draws it off Will's shoulders and carefully drapes it over the trunk at the foot of the bed. He kneels to slip off Will's shoes. When he unfastens Will's belt, he asks, “Will this be your first time with a man?”

Will nods. He doesn't bother to ask whether Hannibal has been with men before. When it comes to seeking pleasure, Hannibal doesn't bother with categories like gender. 

Hannibal draws the belt out of its loops. “Are you nervous?”

“No.” He trusts Hannibal to make this good for both of them.

Hannibal lets out a satisfied hum. He flicks open the button of Will's pants and pulls the zipper down. His hand sneaks inside.

Will draws in a breath. Hannibal's fingers barely touch him and he is completely, utterly turned on. “Stop that.” He will not come in his pants.

Hannibal tilts his head, observing. He strokes Will a few more times before drawing back his hand. He makes quick work of the rest of Will's clothes, but takes care to lay them on the trunk. “Please get comfortable.” Hannibal nods at the bed.

Will lies back on his elbows and watches Hannibal undress. There's nothing teasing about it; it's quick and efficient. Will lets his eyes linger nevertheless. Hannibal is uncut, as expected. Will wonder what that'll feel like.

Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed. “I'd rather get this out of the way sooner than later.” He picks a condom off the nightstand and holds it up.

Will snorts. “No.” They've bled all over each other.

Hannibal's eyebrows rise.

Will sobers. “I know you're very careful about what you let into your body. And I'm clean. So, no.”

Hannibal puts the condom back. He reaches for the lube, but Will stops him. “C'mere.” He might not be nervous, but he wants to figure this out slowly. He rolls onto his back and pulls Hannibal with him. The way Hannibal's weight presses down on him is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. He lets his hands roam, tracking the rise and dip of Hannibal's shoulders, the plane of his back, his ass. 

Hannibal kisses him, long and slow, accompanied by an occasional roll of his hips. It's perfect. It's exactly what Will wants, and he loses himself in it.

He notices when Hannibal shifts and reaches, but is more invested in keeping their mouths together. 

“Tell me if you're uncomfortable,” Hannibal mumbles against Will's lips as he reaches between their bodies.

It's strange, at first. But as Hannibal's fingers continue to tease and coax, there's a liquid warmth that spreads through Will that is addictive. His breath shortens and he should tell Hannibal to stop, but he wants to float on this feeling forever.

“I will teach you how to come from this alone.” Hannibal sounds unruffled, but there is a flush from his chest down to his cock, which is hard and sticky at the top.

“Don't think there's—fuck—there's much left to teach,” Will bites out. “Maybe two minutes? Tops? And then I'm gone.”

Surprise flashes across Hannibal's face. “In that case, we better move on.”

Will laughs. “Yeah, I'd say so.”

“On your knees and elbows, if you please.”

Will doesn't care. He moves into position and takes a moment to catch his breath, letting his head dangle between his arms. Hannibal's hand pushes along his spine in long strokes until Will feels completely pliant.

Hannibal thumbs over Will's hole a few times, circling, before he admonishes him to breathe and pushes inside.

Will's fingers curl into the sheets and his breath stutters out of his lungs. Hannibal doesn't stop until he bottoms out. He leans over Will, chest to back, and pushes back the hair from Will's face. “Let me in,” Hannibal murmurs.

Will wants to laugh at the absurdity of the request. Will has let Hannibal in, over and over again, even when he shouldn't have, until Hannibal took up residence in the corners of his mind. In his heart. His body will follow suit.

They both notice when Will's muscles relent. Hannibal's hips push forward and Will sighs as he tilts back over into that warmth from earlier. Hannibal keeps one hand loosely fisted in Will's hair while the other directs Will's hips in time with Hannibal's strokes, which are precise and relentless.

When Hannibal's hand slides up from Will's hip to his throat, Will moans. Hannibal's fingers merely rest there, thumb idling over his pulse point, almost unbearably gently. Will wants to jump out of his skin. It's too much. Too many feelings rise up in him, mingling with the pleasure Hannibal is wringing from his body. He whines, wants to ask Hannibal to please stop and never stop at the same time until he comes, thighs shaking.

Hannibal draws his hand away from Will's throat and soothes it across his chest. His hips slow until they stop. As Will shudders through the last vestiges of his orgasm, Hannibal asks, “I would like to finish in you, if I may.”

Will flaps a hand in agreement, still beyond words. Hannibal lowers him to the bed and starts moving again. He lifts up on his elbows, bracketing Will, his hips snapping with short hard strokes. Will is almost at the point of oversensitivity, but he wants this, Hannibal trembling against him, because of him. 

Hannibal groans as his hips twitch against Will's ass. He remains still for a few moments, then leans down to kiss the space between Will's shoulder blades and nuzzle his neck. Will reaches back, grasping Hannibal's thigh to keep him close. Hannibal reciprocates by hooking an arm under Will's chest.

 _This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us._ The words bubble up in Will's mind, and he thinks, _Yes._

8.

They leave the Caribbean behind. The coast of Brazil is beautiful, even in late fall. They're anchored near Aracaju on a rainy day when Hannibal approaches the couch where Will has settled with _Near to the Wild Heart_. When he doesn't sit down, Will lowers the book.

“If you have a moment, I would like to discuss a few things with you.”

This is oddly formal, even for Hannibal. Will follows him to the small study. On the desk, documents are spread out.

“This is an overview of my estate,” Hannibal says. “It is time that you had a better sense of it.”

“Okay...” Will picks up the stapled document closest to him. He thinks it's a stock portfolio, but finances were never of much interest to him. As long as his bank balance wasn't in the red, he didn't care much about what happened with his money. The FBI has probably frozen his checking account by now.

“Would you like me to give an overview?”

Will nods. “I'm not sure what I'm looking at here.”

“Have a seat.” Hannibal settles in one of the chairs that have been set up in front of the desk. “Let's start here.” He pulls a leather-bound ledger closer.

Will knew that Hannibal had money, but he'd underestimated quite how much. He loses track of the sums printed on various documents, but they amount to a lot. There are bank accounts under different names in various countries. A stock portfolio, as Will correctly guessed. Real estate, including the family seat in Lithuania. 

“Wait,” Will instructs, when he spots his name on a document. He takes a closer look. “Why is my name on this?”

Hannibal regards him with amusement. “Why shouldn't your name be on this?”

Will doesn't know how to answer. “It's not my money.” It's the first thing that comes to his mind, a notion buried deep, something drummed into him from an early age.

“I transferred half of my estate to you, Will.” 

“Why?” Dumb question. He knows why. He also knows when. Last week, Hannibal disappeared for hours in Recife. “No, I mean—” He rests his arms on his thighs and leans forward. His chest is tight and his thoughts tumble over one another. He didn't grow up with money, and this is a great deal of money all at once. A lot of responsibility. Not to mention that Hannibal is extremely protective of what's his, yet freely, and apparently happily, gave half of what he owns to Will. 

A hand settles on Will's nape, fingers kneading into muscle. Will bows his head. The tightness in his chest uncurls. 

“Were you aware that many of the stars visible in the Southern sky used to be part of one constellation?”

“No.”

“It was called Argo Navis, after the ship Jason and the Argonauts used to sail in pursuit of the Golden Fleece. Apollonius Rhodius writes about their quest in the _Argonautica_. Much like his writing and their journey, the constellation was sprawling. Not very easy to grasp. Nicolas Louis de Lacaille divided Argo into smaller constellations that represent parts of the ship.” Hannibal's fingers exert less pressure, moving across Will's skin in a gentle arc. “But the stars are still there, easy to put together again for those who know how to look for them. They endure. Beautiful and true.”

The convoluted story makes Will smile. He tugs Hannibal's hand away from his neck and takes it into his own. “I'm not good with this.” He gestures at the stacks of documents.

“You will be, in time. I'll manage—” and there is the slightest hitch— “our estate for now.”

Will leans back in his chair, smiling. He knocks his foot against Hannibal's ankle. “Poor boy from Louisiana, snagging himself a European aristocrat. Who would have thought.”

Hannibal returns his smile and looks at Will with unrestrained fondness.

 

9.

Will begins to long for steady ground beneath his feet. They've been at sea for months. While Will continues to appreciate the freedom the boat offers, he wants to stop moving, at least for a while. He also wants more space. He and Hannibal fit together better than Will expected, but there are still days when the boat is too small. 

When Will shares his thoughts, there is no surprise on Hannibal's part. Perhaps he's known for a while. It certainly does not take long for them to find their way to Cariló, where Hannibal owns a house. The town itself is too busy and too loud for Will's liking, but he can see why it is a good choice. It's popular with people who have too much money and time, making it easy to blend in, and it offers the kinds of things Hannibal appreciates: markets that brim with fresh fruit and vegetables, complemented by small shops that carry specialized food, and a social scene that stretches through restaurants and cafes.

The house is located away from all of this, however, and it has enough land around it to offer unquestionable privacy. The rooms are large and airy; the furniture and art chosen with restraint. Will feels comfortable here from the moment he steps through the door, a sentiment that clearly pleases Hannibal.

10.

Two months after their arrival, they have dinner at a restaurant that is quickly becoming their favorite. The food blends simple with sophisticated, and thus appeals to them both. They are seated next to an American family that Will ignores after gathering initial impressions (Midwestern, recently came into money, possible here on a vacation whose main purpose consists of bragging rights back home). 

Unfortunately, the family keeps intruding on their meal. Or rather, the husband does, with his too-loud laugh and stream of reprimands directed at his wife and children. When he drops his fork, the clank reverberating off the stone floor makes Hannibal's fingers tighten around his knife. A waiter comes over with a new fork, addressing the husband by name. Regulars, then.

Hannibal looks at Will, eyes hard and cold, with a question lurking behind the anger. Will's gaze slides over to the next table, and he lets himself see the slump in the wife's shoulders and the wary expressions in the kids' eyes. Will realizes he hasn't heard their voices for as long as he has been here.

“We should come back for dinner here tomorrow night,” Will says. “I hear the catch of the day is particularly delicate on Wednesdays.”

Hannibal's smile is nothing short of dangerous. “Indeed it is.”

The next evening finds them in the same spot, with the same company at the next table. They don't talk much as they eat. Their plan is in motion, by mutual decision. 

After their plates are cleared away, Hannibal excuses himself. Will orders coffee, as he always does. When it is served, the man at the next table gets called away. The world narrows to the flavors on Will's tongue: the earthy depth of perfectly brewed coffee barely tempered by sugar and milk. He finishes his cup, sets it down, and leaves, certain that Hannibal has settled the bill.

When Will finds Hannibal, the man's life hangs by a thread. His desperation jolts Will, sharpens his senses. Will admires the precision of Hannibal's work. There's an elegance to it that Will has never been able to deny.

Will accepts the knife from Hannibal without hesitation.

11.

They meander on their way home. Hannibal picks up fruit and pastries for breakfast, as he has done many times before at the end of an evening out. Will finds the leisurely conversation Hannibal engages in with the woman at the register almost unbearable. It's not the fear of being caught, or the emergence of doubt. Will has neither. But he wants Hannibal to himself, wants to unleash what's simmering between them, wants to be home so he can scream if needs to.

He nearly pushes Hannibal up against the wall next to their front door, but Hannibal rests a hand on his arm, and gentles him with a soft, “Steady now, Will.”

They put away everything they brought home with them, bought and otherwise. Their clothes go into the washer. They take separate showers. 

Hannibal is waiting for him in their bedroom, standing next to the large window. The lights are off. Moonlight breaks on the sharp lines of Hannibal's body.

Will steps close to him, leaving only the space of a breath between them. Hannibal doesn't move. Will draws his fingers across Hannibal's wrist, up over his elbow and shoulder to settle at the back of his neck. He lets Hannibal feel the strength of his fingers, pleased when it brings forth a sound. Will rakes his other hand down Hannibal's front, unhurried but determined. Hannibal's pulse spikes in short beats against Will's wrist. When Will finally closes his fingers around Hannibal's cock, it has already begun to fill.

Will isn't gentle with Hannibal. It's not what either of them needs tonight. Hannibal's lips part with a groan at the rough tugs of Will's hand. When his eyes threaten to slide close, Will tightens the fingers curled around Hannibal's neck. Brown eyes snap back to Will, and he drinks in the want in them. It puzzles Will how there was once a time when he couldn't see that Hannibal would burn down the world to have this. Them. 

A shudder rolls through Will, rattling his steady stance for a moment. Hannibal's hand flies to Will's side, setting off sparks that crackle along his skin. Will leans forward and brings their mouths together. Unlike the many other times when Hannibal has coaxed Will into submission when they kissed, he holds himself back. Lets Will take what he needs. It's dizzying, and Will can't stop the desperate noises leaking into the kiss.

He pulls back when spots dance behind his eyelids. Hannibal's hips buck against him, and Will twists his hand, knowing it won't take much more. A flush steals across Hannibal's cheeks. He whimpers when Will's nails dig into his scalp. Will slows his stroke for just a moment, long enough to commit this to memory: Hannibal trembling in his hold, ready to be unmade. It is the most intoxicating thing Will has ever seen.

His hand speeds up again, and when Hannibal comes, Will can see starlight in his eyes.


End file.
